Thriller Night
by jjhatter
Summary: A Halloween story and prequel to "Paper Faces." Chessur/Mally. Summary inside. R&R, or I will summon the Headless Horseman upon you!  Not really.


Hey there, comrades! For various reasons I would prefer not to go into, I have had to rewrite this story and replace all of the Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ pieces with new lines. I have decided to use poems rather than songs, so just imagine any tune you'd like!

This story is dedicated to fellow author Niphuria. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Rating: T (You'll see why. Hee hee hee…)

Disclaimer: Are you sure? Oh…darn. Nope! Still don't own Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland! The lines from the poems used here to replace _Thriller _are T.S. Eliot's _The Hollow Man_ and _The Scariest Thing _by Mairi Tereas Gallagher. I do not own them, either.

Summary: Frighetnacht. Halloween. Whatever you call it, it's one day Mallymkun always looks forward to. But there's something different about this year… Contains Chess/Mally and hinted Tarrant/Mally.

**Thriller Night**

October 31st. Frighetnacht. Known to Alice and all of her fellow Overlandians as Halloween. It was, by all accounts, probably Mallymkun's favorite time of the year. Every Frighetnacht, she, Thackery, Tarrant, and occasionally Chessur would dress up in special costumes – it was always a different one every year – and join the Mad Hatter at his workshop in the White Queen's palace and tune in to the Underland Broadcasting Channel (UBC) and listen to the radio. For every year, Underlandian radio star Cenvint Ripce would perform an annual episode of his horror anthology program "Ripce's Thrillers." Mally greatly enjoyed listening to Ripce Thrillers; they always spooked her, kept her in suspense, and had such delightful twists, but never really frightened her badly. She actually found some of the stories funny, all filled with predictable fools who'd split up, leaving themselves open to the alien hunter, or open the one locked door in the old mansion, and be swallowed by the demon on the other side…too ridiculously predictable, like a moth and flame.

Alice Kingsleigh would be joining them tonight. Mally wasn't too excited by this; the only reason she didn't protest to the bothersome girl was because she hoped that this year's Thriller would frighten the girl to death. But, besides Alice, there was something different about this Frighetnacht…perhaps it was the light? The sunset had painted the sky as orange as a Jack-O-Lantern, and was twice as lovely. No…it was something less intangible, and yet equally difficult to grasp.

Now was not the time though for thoughts of oddness. The sea green makeup she had chosen to go with her outfit was proving very difficult to apply to even her snowy white fur, as it would stick to the strands of fur and stay, unable to be spread out along her face, head, and arms. She growled and cursed softly under her breath, trying in vain to spread the greasepaint around her eye sockets without getting it into her perfect, round, bead-like eyes.

"After all this trouble," she muttered, "Ripce better have a good Thriller for tonight, or there'll be the devil to pay…"

After over an hour of makeup appliance, Mally slipped out of her skirt and blouse and placed on a black dress with copper-colored lining and a small black and brown cape, topping it off with a conical black hat that she placed between her wide, emerald hued ears. Finally, she slapped on the belt and scabbard for her pin-sword.

Costume now ready, the dormouse hopped up and out of the spout. Thackery had left earlier, costume packed inside a small brown bag, and had warned her not to be late for the program and party. She scampered off the table into the woods, the light growing ever darker…

Halfway to Marmoreal, she stopped, barely able to breathe.

"What now?" she murmered. "Can't run all the way there…and I surely don't want to miss out on the Thriller…"

"Need a lift?"

Mally looked up into the tree the voice had come from. As per his habitual manner, Chessur had appeared from thin air. She admired his costume: a black velvet jacket and crimson cape that fluttered in the cold twilight breeze, a pair of white gloves on his hands/forepaws, and a chalky white opera mask that covered his entire face above his whiskered nose. But even the mask couldn't hide the burning, glowing blue-green eyes of the Cheshire Cat, shining like turquoise lamps. In some ways, he looked more intimidating in his costume than out of it…and to a dormouse, that was pretty scary. But Mally, being Mally, wasn't frightened at all. In fact, she felt faintly…_Oh, good lord, that mask_…

She didn't realize she'd been staring until the cat's grin widened into a glistening, silver-toothed smirk.

"Like the jacket?" he purred, his voice all-too knowing. Mally blushed red as a beet beneath her green painted fur, startled and embarrassed.

"It's a…nice costume…" she said flatly.

"Thank you. Heading for Tarrant's shop I presume?"

"Correct. You?"

"The same. I wouldn't miss a Ripce Thriller for the world."

"Nor would I," said the dormouse, and had to swallow to keep herself from saying, _especially if you're going to be there._

"You seem a bit short of words, dormousey. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Chess, and don't call me 'dormousey!'"

Chess laughed and dropped from the tree, holding out a paw.

"Climb up, Mallymkun. We're evaporating."

Mally badly wanted to ask the cat not to evaporate – she hadn't forgotten the last time he had with her in tow – but there was no arguing with the eyes behind the mask. She shivered, from neither cold nor fear, and gingerly climbed up his arm and onto his head, trying not to look back into the cat's eyes.

_Something is definitely different about tonight,_ she thought dimly, as the world went blank and her body went numb and everything started to swirl and spin out of proportion. Soon the feeling of nonexistence left her, and with the return to materialization came nausea. She shook her head rapidly to try and rid her head of the dizziness.

"I hate it when you do that," she mumbled.

"Which is why _I_ enjoy doing it," grinned Chessur playfully. "Anyway, we're there."

Mally groaned, frustrated, and climbed down. She found herself staring at the cat again. He seemed even more impressive up close…

"Shall I knock?" asked the cat, freeing the dormouse from her stupor.

"No, I'll do it," grunted Mally, glad her face was green for the time being. At her small size, she had to bang on the door to Tarrant's chambers with both fists repeatedly until her arms ached to get any sound across.

It was the Hatter who opened the door. His costume wasn't nearly as…fascinating as Chessur's, but it was certainly more morbid. The Mad Hatter's face had been painted a sickly shade of olive green. He wore rubber gloves, black trousers, and a tattered straitjacket, and a pillow stuffed in the back gave the impression of a hunchbacked figure. In his hand was cane with a golden, teapot shaped top, and instead of his usual top hat he wore a stovepipe hat decorated with a black and white chessboard design that stood from his head like some psychedelic tower. He greeted the smaller animals with his usual giddy gap-toothed grin.

"Happy Frighetnacht, Chess! Welcome, Mallymkun!"

"Aboot tyme!" came the March Hare's voice from somewhere behind the Hatter.

"Hello, Tarrant," Mally grinned back. "Sorry it took so long…took me forever to get into costume."

"I like your other hat better," was all Chess said, pouting a bit. Tarrant rolled his eyes in a bored fashion and stood aside, allowing the cat and the dormouse entrance into his workshop, furnished with two tables, a chair, and countless hatstands, racks, and mannequins that were adorned with various hats: leather, felt, feathered, red, blue, green, floppy, tall, short, big, small…Tarrant Hightopp had made every kind of hat imaginable, and then some.

"Been busy I see," observed Chess coolly.

Tarrant chuckled, closing the door.

"Indeed! I love being able to hat the Queen again! …the White one, not the Red one. The Red one's in the Outlands, and besides, the White Queen actually likes my work, and all my designs – black, white, purple, whatever – no matter what, while that bloody Red one hated them, be they red, pink, scarlet, or any other shade she might have liked and far between, and, besides which..."

"Hatter!" snapped Mally.

Tarrant gulped.

"Thank you, Mally," he wheezed.

"Enoough chatter!" barked the March Hare, arms crossed impatiently. "Ripce'll be un in ah minute!"

Thackery Earwicket had not drastically changed his usual look for his costume. He was wearing a set of fake fangs, and had poured what looked like gallons of fake blood on his coat, but otherwise looked the same as he always did. (Which, to be perfectly honest, was maddening enough as it was.)

"I've never heard a Ripce Thriller before…I certainly hope we don't miss it," said Alice.

Wait…WHO?

"When did _you_ get here?" snapped Mallymkun, stamping her foot.

"Only a minute or so before you and Chessur, actually. I hope no one up there saw me like this…they might lock me up in some old hospital for years for dressing this way…"

"That would be terrible," Mally snarled sarcastically.

Alice had painted her body and face pale, ghostly blue, and wore a tattered bridal gown and veil with ragged silver lace trimmings. Her lips were painted dark blue, and her hair was dyed an inky black.

"Everyone sit at the table and get ready!" said Tarrant, pushing up a few chairs for he, Alice, and Thackery, while Mally climbed up and sat cross-legged on a napkin on the table as the Hatter began twisting knobs and dials on the old, brown, box-shaped radio.

SWOOMPH.

"Mind if I curl up here? Thanks!"

"Wha…? Wait! Don't you – !

Chessur chuckled and curled up against Mallymkun, his grin mocking her, eyes shining behind his mask. Mally gulped, although she wasn't sure why, and tried to cover it up with a huff before leaning up against the cat's red velvet cape, as with a buzz and a crackle of static, the husky, rasping, iconic voice of Cenvint Ripce came from the radio, the sound of a thunderstorm accompanying him as he delivered to opening spiel to his latest Thriller:

"_We are the Hollow Men. We are the stuffed men. Leaning together, headpieces filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when we whisper together, are quiet and meaningless as wind in dry glass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar. Shape without form, shade without color. Paralyzed force, gesture without motion; those who have crossed with direct eyes to death's other kingdom remember us – if at all – not as lost, violent souls, but as the Hollow Men. The stuffed men!"_

With a cackle of laughter and a clap of thunder, Ripce's tale of zombies, corpses risen from the grave on the night of a fateful battle, intent on laying waste to the nearest town, unfurled in all of its gory details.

And, lying up against the body of the ever nonchalant Cheshire Cat, who actually seemed to be enjoying the whole thing, with Alice at the edge of her seat and the Hare and the Hatter idly sharing popcorn (Thackery yelping and hopping under his chair each time a scream was heard, much to Tarrant's amusement), Mally felt something. Something utterly alien.

Fear. And, with the cat so close, purring so loudly, and the husky voice of Ripce as he continued…something else...something warm and feverish...something _thrilling_...

After the show, she was trembling.

Thackery had fallen asleep at quite literally the last minute (the Thriller ended at 11:45), and Alice had promised to take the Hare home later, as Tarrant had promised her upon arrival a look at his hat collection. (Lucky girl.) Mally hadn't taken two steps out the door when Chess appeared beside her in his usual way of evaporation, and, smirking lightly, offered a ride home. Mally complied – a shiver washing over her – on the condition they would not evaporate. Chessur agreed, and began the walk back to the tea table.

He couldn't help but smell her. She smelled terrified, her terror mixed with fear of a different sort.

"Honestly, dormousey, it was only a radio show!"

"I know, Chess," Mally said, trying not to sound like a whimpering pup. The full moon cast an ivory shaded glow upon the trees, their twisting, leafy branches like great, skeletal arms in the moon's eternal spotlight. The dormouse winced at the sound of a twig snapping, rather than her usual action of snapping out her pin-sword at the noise. Chess stopped abruptly, his eyes turning up towards her behind his opera mask.

"Why, Mally! Are you _actually_ scared?"

"No…not r-really," Mally lied quietly, but soon betrayed her own words by gasping at the sound of a bloodhound baying at the moon.

"Oh, you're scared, all right," Chessur insisted, nodding his head gently so that the dormouse wouldn't tumble off. "After all, you must be, or Bayard's barking wouldn't bother you at all."

Mally huffed, hoping the cat couldn't see her blush.

"I'm not _that_ scared," she said in her more frequently used, stubbornly spoken tone of voice.

The cat rolled his eyes and kept walking, muttering the words, "You're scared," under his breath. Mally made no reply; she was too caught up in her own thoughts. What was it about the smiling cat tonight that suddenly made her want to run like crazy whenever he spoke to her, but at the same time cuddle up with him against the warm fur and flesh of his body? She'd never felt like this around anyone before, and it seemed strange to her that she'd feel this way around the Cheshire Cat, whom, while always a good friend of hers, was quite notorious for his appetite for rodents. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt less afraid. In fact, the danger she suddenly realized only thrilled her more, and in more ways than one.

Without warning the cat stopped. There was a twinkle in his eye as, in a low, husky, seductive and slightly sinister voice, he began to sing. The lyrics put the fear of God into the dormouse:

"_Some things are scary, others are not, like ghosts, and goblins, and things that rot…"_

The cat plucked Mallymkun off of his head and placed her on the ground before him. He crouched into a predatory stance, eyes even brighter in the shadows.

_"Cats and dogs are not scary at all: all they do is play chase and catch a ball…"_

"Chess," Mally whimpered softly, a noise that was very rare for her. "Chess, please, stop…"

The feline ignored her and began to circle her slowly, ominously. Mally reached for her pin-sword…and realized she'd grabbed the scabbard, and not the blade.

_"But, the Scariest Thing" _sang the cat, _"creeps around at night, looking for victims to scratch and bite…"_

"Stop…"

_"It hides its face; it's too ugly to see…"_

"Chessur…"

_"It rules all monsters, both tall and wee.."_

"STOP IT! JUST STOP IT!" squeaked Mally, unable to take any more of the Cheshire Cat's seemingly delusional song. She was panting, partly with fear, partly with frustration.

The cat listened to her this time, and relaxed, pupils widening somewhat.

"Sorry," he apologized, meowing. "I'm afraid that I got overexcited. I was only teasing…"

"Well, don't!" snarled Mallymkun. "I'm scared, I'll admit that right now. There! Happy, cat?"

The cat nodded.

"Shall we continue our little walk?" he meowed.

Mally looked into his eyes, and relaxed instantly.

"Yes," she said, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "Back to the table."

11:55.

Mallymkun, out of costume and her makeup and now wearing her red sleeping dress, couldn't sleep, although her tea-leaf bed felt particularly comfortable at the late hour. The fact was, it couldn't compare to Chessur's fur. And Chessur filled her thoughts totally. His fur, his eyes, the mask he wore for the night…everything about him seemed to warm her flesh and make her heart freeze at the same time. Ripce's Thriller had been terrifying, but even it didn't chill her blood as much as the cat did at the present. His song stuck in her head…she shuddered.

"No such thing as ghosts…" she mumbled. "No such thing as ghosts…"

11:56.

The dormouse was just about to nod off and fall into a blissful sleep, when her ears twitched at a strange sound from somewhere outside her teapot: a faint "swoosh", like a wisp of autumn breeze.

"J-just the wind," she muttered, although she knew the wind had stopped blowing hours ago.

Then, like some grim message from a phantom's mouth, came the sound of music in the night:

_"Those who've seen his face, their eyes burst and bleed!"_

11:57.

Mally was in her blouse and skirt, pin-sword in hand, in a split second. She hopped up and out the spout and looked around.

Thackery, fake fangs in a teacup still full of tea and fur and coat still soaked in fake blood, was lying back in his chair, snoring loudly. Alice had returned him, as promised. A faint mist was on the ground, which was curious as there had been none earlier.

The music came again…

_"They beg for mercy, 'Spare us! Spare us!' they plead!"_

Mally looked towards the windmill, its windows revealing the lack of light within. The voice came from somewhere inside the Hare's windmill…

11:58.

Her pin-sword clutched within a trembling paw, Mally slowly crept up to the windmill, looming like a sleeping beast in the pale light of the moon.

_"But he's not a giver. He takes what he finds…"_

A bush rustled. Mally whipped around toward it, eyes wide and breath caught fast in her chest. Was it a ghoul? A vampire?

_"All sorts of people, both sight-seers and blind…"_

11:59.

It was only a cloth moth, a large bug with wings of silk, a body made from a wooden spool, and a spindle for a head. It ate silkworms, not dormice.

Mallymkun sighed with relief, and approached the battered door of the March Hare's windmill, scarred by porcelain. She prepared to crawl into the lightless domain from under the door, but paused.

The radio thriller's story, all of its gruesome details, returned to haunt her recollection: the rotting flesh of corpses, the dried blood on the zombies' lips, the pale, ghastly countenance of the ghosts, the thunderous blasts of gunfire and the shrill shrieking and horrific moans…

What was waiting on the other side of the door? What lurked in the windmill, singing so alluringly? What strange creature awaited her? Would it attack? Would she be able to fight back?

_"So, watch out at night, because if by him you're seen, he'll give you an evil grin and say…"_

MIDNIGHT.

The music abruptly stopped.

Curiosity won over fear.

"Come now, you're being very silly," muttered Mallymkun to herself. "There's no such thing as ghosts…or ghouls…or zombies…or vampires…or witches…good heavens, I sound like Hatter!"

Mally crawled under the door and into the windmill. Not even a match or candle was there to give her light. She stared out into the darkness, heart pounding.

"H-hello?" she called out, quavering. "Who's there?"

The answer struck. The pin-sword was knocked from the dormouse's hand, and before she could scream or make any noise, a soft but horrible and strong force was placed upon her lips silencing her. Something equally soft and powerful coiled up about her body, smothering her in what felt like fur.

And it was purring.

"Boo!"

_The End_


End file.
